With Friends Like These
by Lugubrious DBB
Summary: Unjustly blacklisted by the Federation, bounty hunter Samus Aran finds herself not only unemployable, but with a price on her own head. Now, she must work with a questionable cast of characters to restore her reputation and discover just who it is that is trying to destroy the life she has worked so hard to build. Set between the original "Metroid" and "Metroid Prime".
1. Solitude

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter One**

**Solitude**

_She fell to her knees, exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open, every fiber of her being thoroughly spent. Beads of perspiration dripped from her brow, running down her face, the visor of her helmet becoming cloudy with condensation as she allowed herself, at last, to breathe heavily._

_ Before her lay the bloodied, mangled remains of the Mother Brain, the artificial intelligence responsible for the corruption of Zebes, for the Space Pirates' attempt at interplanetary conquest. Far behind her, in the chambers above, lay the mutilated corpses of the Metroids, their threat nullified, as per her mission parameters. She shuddered involuntarily as she recalled the indescribable pain that had washed over her as the parasitic creatures had swarmed her, latching onto her with their mandibles of death, ravenously attempting to consume her very essence, that ephemeral _something _that defined her very being. Only her quick reflexes and the advanced technology she now possessed had allowed her to exploit the creatures' only weakness as she had frozen them, coating their gelatinous forms in layer upon layer of ice before mercilessly pummeling them with the full fury of her arsenal. _You were lucky to have survived this, _she had told herself in the aftermath. _Don't make a habit of trying to survive such insurmountable odds. . . .

_ Her armor of orange, yellow, and red glistened in the cool luminescence of artificial light as she slowly forced herself to stand, her limbs screaming at her in protest as she did so. Taking a labored breath, she stepped forward, ignoring the shooting pain in her body as she made haste to escape from this planet she had once called home, but now had brought her nothing but death . . . destruction._

_ The klaxon exploded in her ears, its relentless tones sending shooting pain through her skull as she looked about, her highly-acute senses prepared for the worst. The guttural language of the Space Pirates tore through the chamber, their harsh consonants ringing through her mind, every syllable dripping with malice. Her eyes widened as in her HUD her armor's translation program sprang into action, lines of text scrolling into view. Her heart sank, her blood turned frigid as she made sense of the words before her: _Self-destruct sequence activated. T-minus 250 seconds. Evacuate immediately.

_Shaking her head in disbelief, she glanced back at the lifeless mass of tissue and metal that lay behind her. _She . . . She couldn't have! It's not possible! This has to be a mistake! She couldn't have activated it! I killed her!

_The red light streaming around her, the now-frantic ringing of countless alarm systems told her otherwise. Realizing she had no time to argue, no time to find a way of stopping the pending destruction, she did the only thing she could do: She ran._

_ Screaming in anger, in desperation, she flew through the door before her, her eyes darting about, searching for some way of escaping the inevitable. She cursed as she realized the path before her was a dead end, obstructed by a wall of impenetrable metal. Glancing upward, she smiled in relief as she saw her salvation: she was standing within a tall ventilation shaft just below the planet's surface. All she had to do was climb upward, and . . . _

T-minus 200 seconds._ The text scrolled across her HUD, soundlessly reminding her of her ever-encroaching deadline. Not wasting a second, she leapt into the air, the powerful hydraulics of her armor propelling her toward a maintenance overhang protruding from the side of the wall before her. Whirling about, she leapt to a similar platform on the other side of the shaft, taking care to ensure her footing was secure. _

This is almost too easy, _she thought to herself as she repeated the procedure, moving higher and higher up the shaft, the exit above growing closer with each well-timed leap. She felt her spirit soar as she reached the platform just beneath the exit hatch, her body involuntarily positioning itself to make the final leap that would set her free from the alarms, the red lights, the atmosphere of dread and death—_

_ A loud explosion caught her by surprise, flame suddenly dancing before her as the maintenance hatch beneath her feet disintegrated, succumbing to the fire that now consumed the rusted metal. She felt herself falling, unable to stop herself, her armor no longer obeying her commands as she frantically attempted to summon something—anything—from her arsenal that could save her, her equipment unresponsive as she plummeted further and further until—_

_ The impact did not hurt as much as she expected it would. Her relief at that small blessing turned to horror as she realized she no longer could feel anything. Her arms . . . Her legs . . . Her entire body denied her panicked orders as her broken, mangled form lay motionless at the base of the shaft._

T-minus 30 seconds. _The text in her HUD slowly dissipated, along with her helmet and the rest of her armor as she lost control of herself, fear, panic, abject terror consuming her, rendering her incapable of maintaining the intense concentration required to keep her armor intact. Her lungs were on fire as they choked on the noxious atmosphere of the shaft as smoke and chemicals assaulted her exposed esophagus. Desperately, she tried to stretch out her hand, to pull herself upward, to do _something _to escape from this hell in which she was now imprisoned._

_ A loud, unfamiliar sound filled her ears, instantly deafening her. She saw a rush of flame move toward her, saw her exposed flesh turn to ash, bone exposed, rapidly disintegrating as the blue fire washed over her. Her destroyed lungs melted before she could even scream as the unbearable pain overtook her, and—_

* * *

"No!"

Her heart raced, her breath coming in frantic gasps as she sat upright in the cockpit of her gunship, her long blonde hair soaked with perspiration, her skintight clothing clinging to her body, cold and clammy. Her eyes darted about, disoriented, as she gazed through the canopy of her vessel, the inky blackness of space peppered with unnumbered points of white light, its ethereal silence permeating the cockpit with a feeling of oppressive isolation.

Unstrapping herself from her pilot's seat, she rushed down the narrow corridor of the small spacecraft, her hand brushing over the hatch release for the 'fresher door. Kneeling before the basin within, her churning stomach emptied its contents as she retched over and over again, her skin pale, her hands shaking as she fought to calm herself from the horror that was the nightmare that had invaded her slumber.

_That's not what happened! That's not what happened! That's not what happened! _she repeated to herself over and over again, the words forming a litany of denial. _You stopped them! You exterminated the Metroids! You escaped! You didn't die! You didn't. . . ._

Wiping the bile from the corners of her mouth, she stood, placing her lips beneath the faucet, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of cool water from her vessel's condenser units, her command of her emotions returning to her as the bitter taste dissipated from her tongue. Gritting her teeth, she placed both hands on the edges of the sink as she stared into the mirror, staring at her own reflection for the first time since she had touched down on the planet.

The face gazing back at her was her own, the same she had always seen, yet in so many subtle, frightening ways it was not her own. Her eyes of blue bore a strange, haunted look that had not been present before, the pupils cloudy, uncertain. Her jaw was set more firmly than she recalled, clenched tightly as if trying to shut out a lifetime of horrors, to keep them from bursting forth from her throat in a series of anguished cries. The nightmare had brought to the forefront of her consciousness her long-repressed fears and terrors, fears she had spent so long mastering, banishing to the depths of her mind.

_It's over now, _she reminded herself. _The Pirates are scattered and powerless. Zebes is free of them. Ridley . . . _She swallowed as the image of her nemesis, the dragon-like beast that had torn her world apart so many years ago, appeared before her mind's eye, his golden pupils narrow, his gaping maw open wide as a bestial scream tore from his throat. Her heart began to race once more, her palms becoming moist as she remembered the viciousness, the relentlessness each of them had displayed toward each other during their recent battle.

_You killed him, _she reminded herself. _He's dead. He can't hurt anyone ever again. Finally, you have avenged your parents._

_ Then why do I feel so empty? _she asked herself in reply. _Why don't I feel a sense of finality, of completion? Why don't I feel as though I can finally be at peace?_

_ Because you never will. _Her reflection seemed to take on a life of its own, its eyes narrowing, its head shaking back and forth ever-so-slightly. _You are a warrior. Like it or not, you are not meant to find rest. There will always be the hunger, the thirst for the thrill of battle, the rush of walking the fine line between life and death. _Her reflection's eyes seemed to glisten in the dim light of the 'fresher as she leaned in closer to the mirror, certain her mind was playing tricks on her. _It is in your blood, after all. . . ._

She brought her hand to her face, her fingertips resting upon her cheek, her gaze moving to the veins visible beneath the pale flesh on the underside of her wrist. _My blood, _she ruminated. _And yet, not my blood. _She frowned as a thought crossed her mind, one that she suddenly realized she had never considered before in spite of the obvious implication. _You aren't even fully human anymore. Nor are you one of the Old Ones. _She swallowed as images of her adopted people, the birdlike Chozo race, seemed to form all around her, their specter-like bodies encircling her. _There are none like you in this universe. You are unique. Alone. . . ._

She started as a feminine voice interrupted her thoughts. _"Samus? Is everything all right?"_

Sighing, Samus Aran, famed bounty hunter, armored warrior, deeply-scarred woman looked to the ceiling of the 'fresher, her eyes falling upon the small speaker embedded within. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Fortuna," she said as she allowed a stream of water to flow over her hands. "Really, I am."

The ship's artificial intelligence paused momentarily as it analyzed Samus's voice pattern, noting the faster-than-normal pace of her speech, the raised pitch, as well as her increased heart rate, her heightened body temperature. _"Are you certain?" _Fortuna responded. _"My sensors indicate that you are currently under a higher-than-normal level of stress. Is there anything I can—"_

"No." Samus cursed under her breath as she realized she had spoken far more abruptly than she intended, that she had treated her faithful companion with a level of disdain it did not deserve. _Of course. Leave it to me to insist on an AI system that makes me feel sorry for it. _Clearing her throat, she looked up at the speaker again. "I'm sorry, Fortuna. That was . . . I was rude to you just now. I guess I'm just . . . feeling a little jumpy, now that we're heading home."

_"Indeed," _Fortuna said. _"I am relieved to hear that you are doing well. Please tell me you intend to rest once we have returned. You know how I worry about you."_

Samus laughed despite herself, the AI never ceasing to astound her at how much more human it—she—could be than most humans Samus encountered. Splashing some water on her face, the bounty hunter exited the 'fresher, returning to the tight confines of the cockpit. "Where are we, exactly?" she asked. "I sort of lost track when I fell asleep. . . ."

_"We have just passed through the Alpha-Four Quadrant," _Fortuna said, her tone now informative, helpful. _"Assuming all goes well, we should reach Fairhaven Station in about eight standard days."_

_ Wonderful, _Samus thought as she gazed once more at the vastness of the stars before her, her eyes mesmerized once more by the same beckoning force that had called to her as a child, had promised her a lifetime of adventure if she dared to give herself to its embrace. Reaching into the drawer at her side, she unwrapped a dried ration bar, hungrily consuming it, too hungry to care that it tasted like cardboard soaked in Kryffin sweat.

"After I get paid for this latest job," Samus said as she glanced over her gunship's instrumentation, "I'm getting you that engine tune-up I've been promising you. Just wait: You'll be point-seven-five faster than specs. How's that sound?"

_"That sounds . . . excellent," _Fortuna admitted, her voice betraying a hint of . . . was that excitement Samus heard?

"Glad you think so," Samus said as she made her final adjustments to the controls. "I'm going back to sleep," she said. "I'll be awake in time for our next scheduled status check. Just keep us on course, and let me know if anything unusual happens."

_"Of course," _Fortuna responded. _"Pleasant dreams, Samus."_

The bounty hunter shuddered slightly at the AI's words, her stomach turning uncomfortably as she closed her eyes, hoping to ward off another repeat of the nightmare that would not let her be. _It will all be over soon, _she told herself as she felt her consciousness slip away from her. _Soon, we'll finally be able to relax for a while. You'll see. You'll see. . . ._

* * *

**AN: This is my first foray into the world of ****_Metroid. _Hopefully, it will be a worthy offering. More to come!**


	2. Betrayal

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Two**

**Betrayal**

_"Look, Samus. There it is!"_

Fortuna's voice rang in Samus's ears as she gazed upon the sight before her. Through the thick cloud of meteors and space debris through which she navigated, the bounty hunter could see her destination: Fairhaven Station, the deep-space headquarters of the Galactic Federation.

The manmade structure was spherical in shape, its size nearly impressive enough for unassuming travellers to assume it was a small moon or planetoid. Its metallic surface glistened in the light from the nearby sun, shining like a beacon in the blackness of space. Its already impressive defensive armaments were complemented by a half dozen Federation cruisers, a mere sampling of the galactic government's impressive naval armada. As Samus's ship grew closer, she could make out the outlines of countless small fighters and shuttles encircling the station, transporting vital materials to and from Fairhaven, running training simulations of various kinds.

_Much like you used to do, _she thought to herself as a host of uninvited memories swelled to the surface of her consciousness. Brushing them aside, she turned her attention to the instrumentation before her, patiently waiting for Fairhaven's security to take notice of her presence. _Three . . . Two . . . One . . ._

As if on cue, the red light of her ship's comm system began flickering, a high-pitched tone filling the cockpit, demanding her response. Nonchalantly, the bounty hunter flipped the switch next to the light, opening up the primary channel.

"Unidentified spacecraft, this is Fairhaven Station," the voice on the comm said. "You have entered restricted space. Identify yourself. Now."

Samus shook her head in amazement. The voice on the other end sounded young, inexperienced, her highly-acute hearing instantly noticing the faint tremor in his words, the ever-so-slight delay between sentences, the obvious markers of a new recruit just graduated from the Academy. _Great. Just what I need._

Inhaling sharply, she flipped the comm switch to "talk" mode. "Fairhaven," she said, her voice calm, even. "This is _Fortuna, _registration number three-five-eight-six-oh-niner, requesting permission to come aboard."

Static filled the cockpit as she waited for a reply. When it did come, the voice was even more uncertain than before. "Um . . . Repeat, please, unidentified spacecraft. We're having some . . . transmission errors on our end."

_You have _got _to be kidding me! _Gritting her teeth, she opened the channel once more. "I repeat: Fairhaven, this is _Fortuna, _registration number three-five-eight-six-oh-niner, _respectfully _requesting permission to come aboard. Just what seems to be the _frelking _problem in there?"

Another long pause. "Um . . . Hang on, _Fortuna,_" Newbie said. "I'm not seeing you on our manifest. Are you expected?"

"Of course I'm expected." Samus felt her patience begin to evaporate at an ever-increasing rate. "I have urgent business with Hunter Oversight._ Very _urgent business."

The sound of Newbie shuffling through reams of paperwork filled the comm. "Um, I'm sorry about this, but protocol dictates that I can't let you on board until you give me your license number and ID tag—"

That had done it. "On an open channel?!" Samus snapped. "Do you have any idea who could be listening in?! Are you out of your _frelking _mind?!"

Newbie now sounded like he was sweating bullets. "Ma'am, I'm . . . I'm sorry, but I—"

"That's it!" Samus reached for the stick, angling her ship toward Fairhaven's docking bay. "I don't have time for this. I'm coming aboard. If you want to stop me, you're going to have to shoot me down. But if you do, you're going to have to explain to Director Wilkins just why you ordered your boys out there to take down one of his best hunters." She paused. "But it's your call. I hope the Academy prepared you to make the right decision. . . ."

Static filled the comm once more as she waited. Finally, Newbie spoke. "My apologies, _Fortuna,_" he said, contritely. "I have just been informed by my superiors that you are clear to land."

"Thank you _so _much," Samus muttered, flipping the comm to off as she expertly adjusted her ship's thrusters, guiding the spacecraft into the docking bay.

_"Well, that went well," _Fortuna offered as the landing gear made contact with the docking bay floor.

Samus shook her head. "Where do they find these grunts, anyway? I can't believe things have changed so much since I left. . . ."

Unstrapping herself from the pilot's seat, she stood. Reaching for the overcoat hanging in the small hall between the cockpit and the exit hatch, Samus gently patted the wall. "Let's keep our usual protocol, all right? I don't expect any problems, but . . ."

Fortuna's voice was calm, reassuring. _"I have reviewed your report myself, Samus. I do not see why Director Wilkins or anyone else would take issue with your actions."_

Nodding, Samus patted the small hip pocket of her jumpsuit, the presence of the data chip containing her report reassuring her. "I hope you're right," she murmured as she walked to the exit hatch, activating the elevator that would take her out of her ship. "I hope you're right. . . ."

* * *

The sound of her boots hitting the ground reverberated noticeably as Samus made her way through the station toward Wilkins's office. Her stride was purposeful, uninterrupted, not hesitating for a second as she continued along the familiar path. Her hands concealed within the pockets of her overcoat, Samus arrived at the familiar elevator shaft. Moving on autopilot, her thoughts turned elsewhere, her finger gave the order to the transport to ascend to the thirty-second floor. Stepping into the transport, she did not fail to notice the passengers within immediately cease their conversations the moment she entered, nor did she miss how they surreptitiously congregated to the other side of the elevator, giving her a wide berth.

Uncertain of how to react, she offered them a small smile. Her face returned to its normal stoic expression as her attempt at camaraderie seemed only to heighten the passengers' discomfort. She frowned inwardly as the elevator continued its ascent. _Am I really that intimidating? Even without—_

Before she could ponder any further, the transport stopped, signaling their arrival at the thirty-second floor. As Samus exited the elevator, she felt the tension in the transport leave with her, the remaining passengers striking up their conversation once again, the relief in their voices palpable.

Turning her full attention to the task at hand, Samus proceeded down the long corridor, toward the office at the far end of the level. Upon arriving at the double doors, she sighed as she was greeted by two Federation Patrolmen.

_Oh, I almost forgot how much fun this is, _she thought as she followed the well-practiced ritual, holding her hands above her head. The FPs were notorious for their insistence upon practicing the strictest possible security protocols, routinely, in Samus's view, going out of their way to make the unfortunate person subject to their scrutiny as uncomfortable as possible.

"I'm unarmed, gentlemen," she said as they approached. "You can relax. I promise."

The FP nearest her did not seem impressed by her reassurances. The visor of his helmet stared at her, unmoved. "State the purpose for your business in this sector, ma'am," he said, his tone flat, emotionless.

"I'm here to see the Director," Samus replied, raising an eyebrow. "If that's acceptable to you."

The FP glanced at his partner, shaking his head. "The Director isn't seeing anyone today. He—"

"Security clearance gamma–theta–upsilon–delta."

At her words, the voice analyzer on the door flashed green. The thick double doors slid open, granting her access to the offices within.

Smiling, Samus glanced at the FPs. "Satisfied?"

She was certain the FP nearest her was seething beneath his helmet. "Open your coat," he muttered.

Wordlessly, Samus obeyed. The FP glanced beneath the overcoat, proceeding to pat down the bounty hunter. As his hands grazed her hips, Samus frowned. "Watch yourself," she hissed as his hands lingered a little too long for her tastes. "I bet it would be really difficult for you to do your job with only one arm. . . ."

Standing, the FP dropped his hands. "You're clear," he begrudgingly admitted. "Go on in."

Closing her coat, Samus passed through the double doors, making a right at the next junction. Without pause, she made her way to Director Wilkins's office. Without knocking, she pressed the hatch release on the wall. The door shot open, the hiss of pressurized air sounding in her ears as Samus entered.

Her gaze involuntarily fell upon the large window that dominated the far wall of the spacious office. On the other side of the thick glass was the pure vacuum of open space, every star, every planetoid, every Federation vessel in the system on display. Wilkins had insisted upon having an office with a view, he had told her long ago, back when she had first been hired by the Federation as a freelance hunter. It was the one thing they shared in common: the unadulterated love of the freedom travel in deep space provided. "Out here, Aran, a man can truly be free," he had said. "Free to find his own place in this universe. . . ."

Samus turned to the desk before her, expecting to see Wilkins's ice-blue eyes staring warmly at her, his hand offering her a glass of Cordonian whiskey, a secondary reward for another successful mission.

But the man seated at the desk was not Wilkins. This man was shorter, heavier set, his black mustache contrasting sharply with his bald pate. His eyes—brown, not blue—betrayed no sign of warmth. These eyes were cold, analytical, the eyes of a bean counter, not the eyes of a fellow warrior.

"Who the hell are you?"

The words escaped Samus's lips before she could stop herself. Running a hand through her blonde ponytail, she felt her defenses rise to full alert, her eyes absorbing every detail in the office, every feature of this unfamiliar man now seated before her.

The man frowned in response. "Not a very good way to introduce yourself, now, is it?" he said, rising from his seat.

Something about his tone of voice sent alarm bells through Samus's mind. "Where's Wilkins?" she asked. "Why are you in his office?"

The man walked slowly toward the front of his—_Wilkins's_—desk, his eyes fixated upon Samus. He glanced down at the datapad in his hand, his fingers darting over the device, his head nodding in silent approval. Looking up once more, his eyes narrowed. "Lieutenant Aran, I presume?"

Samus felt her heart skip a beat. _No one's called me that in years. Not since . . ._

The man smiled slightly as he noted her reaction. "I see," he said. He studied Samus's face intently. "You've grown since your days in the Militia, Aran." _In more ways than one, _he thought to himself as he noted the curves of her body she was attempting to conceal beneath her overcoat.

"How . . . How do you know who I am?" Samus hissed. "No one but Wilkins—"

The man held up his datapad. "Your personnel file. Your Militia ID photo. Your complete record of service." He scrolled through the extensive documentation. "An impressive array of decorations for one so young," he commented. "Very impressive. Although, the circumstances surrounding your departure are a little murky—"

"That file was sealed years ago," Samus interrupted, her hands tightly clenched. "All records were supposed to be destroyed. That was one of the conditions when I . . . when I left. How did you _frelking _open it?" She was now both outraged and deeply worried. "Who are you? Where's Wilkins?!"

"Director Wilkins, I'm afraid, is no longer with us," the man said. "He died three standard weeks ago." He shook his head. "Massive heart attack. Never saw it coming."

_Wilkins is . . . dead? _Samus felt her face turn white, her jaw clenching tightly.

The man continued. "I am his replacement. My name is Alberson."

Samus barely registered this piece of information. "Three weeks ago?" she whispered. "I . . . I didn't know. I was—"

"Yes," Alberson said, taking a seat behind his desk once more. "Let's talk about your recent activities, shall we?"

_Get it together! _Samus snapped at herself. _You're more professional than this. Give him your report._

"Right," Samus said. Reaching into her hip pocket, she withdrew the data chip, placing it before Alberson. "This is my report on the mission to Zebes. I trust you'll find everything is in order."

Alberson slid the chip into his datapad. His eyes skimmed the contents of the report, his head occasionally shaking back and forth in surprise, several baffled laughs breaking the tense silence. Finally laying down the datapad, he stared at Samus in amazement. "Do you want to know what I've been doing for the past three weeks, Aran?"

Samus looked at him, confused. "I don't follow."

Rising, Alberson crossed his arms. "Then let me spell it out for you. I've had the Regional Administrator for Sector Gamma on the comm every day demanding to know why one of the hunters under my authority went on a one-man rampage on one of the planets in his jurisdiction."

Samus's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you talking about? I had a contract! Mission parameters! Everything was there in black and white, just like always! Wilkins signed the damn thing—"

"What contract?!" Alberson's voice grew louder, more intense. "There's no record in our system of any contract being offered to you to—how did you say it?—'exterminate the Metroids and disrupt Space Pirate operations on Zebes.'"

"You can't be serious!" Samus felt her heartbeat quicken once more. "Document HD-349803. It's in my ship's computer, for God's sake!"

Alberson smirked. "You know how the system works, Aran. The minute a contract is created, three copies are sent to each of our databanks throughout our network. It's mathematically impossible for someone to delete all nine copies. They may get lucky once, but to hit all three databanks before our security protocols discover them is unthinkable!"

He gestured toward his datapad. "I've read your file, Aran. You're quite a mess, it seems. 'PTSD. . . . Unwilling to work with others. . . . Refusal to follow orders. . . . Intent on pursuing your own agenda at all costs. . . .'" He shook his head. "You know what I think, Aran? I think you went on a little joyride to Zebes because you found out the Pirates were there. And then you made up this little story about this impossible life form called a 'Metroid' to justify your actions."

"They're real!" Samus snapped. "Federation High Command knows all about them! Who do you think ordered Wilkins to hire me in the first place?!"

"Please," Alberson snarled. "High Command couldn't possibly have ordered Wilkins to hire you. That would be a preach of protocol of the highest order. At the very least, there would be a paper trail—"

"Why?" Samus interrogated. "Do you think they want evidence proving they knew Metroids existed? If the public found out—"

"Your conspiracy theory just gets more and more incredible with each passing moment," Alberson interrupted. "Admit it, Aran! You wanted revenge on the Pirates didn't you? That was your motivation for all these lies, wasn't it?! After what they did to your parents. . . ."

Samus felt her hands begin to shake, her face turning red. "Don't you _dare _mention them," she whispered.

A triumphant gleam shone in Alberson's eyes. "Just as I thought. I don't have a clue what Wilkins was thinking, hiring you for so many assignments. You're a ticking time bomb, Aran, just waiting to go off. And I can't have someone like that working under me. It not only makes me look incompetent, it makes the entire Federation look like a gang of _frelking shiltzbats_." His expression was deadly serious. "And I will not permit that to happen. _Ever._"

He typed a sequence into his datapad. "As of this moment, your security clearance for this station is hereby revoked. You will have no further contact with me or anyone else in this office. Is that understood, Aran?"

"You . . . You're blacklisting me?!" Samus felt rage begin to drown out the rest of her emotions. _Keep it together! Keep calm! _"After everything I've done for the Federation . . . After everything I've sacrificed, you're casting me aside, just like that?!"

"You have ten minutes to board your ship and leave before I send in a squad of FPs to escort you out," Alberson said, his eyes fixated upon his datapad, not even bothering to acknowledge Samus's presence. "I suggest you find a new line of work, Aran. Preferably something that keeps you as far away from human contact as possible—"

Samus's hands were on his uniform in an instant, her vision nothing but red. Before she knew what was happening, she had lifted him above her head, her powerful muscles begging her mind to let them hurl him across the room. "How's _this _for human contact?!"

The door behind her burst open, the sound of boot steps filling the air as four FPs rushed in, weapons drawn. "Drop him! Now!"

Alberson smiled as he glanced up at the security camera on the wall. "You just made a big mistake, Aran! Assaulting a Federation officer carries a fifteen-year minimum sentence."

_Shit! _Samus cursed herself for her stupidity. After all she had done, all she had worked for, her life as a free woman within the Federation was now gone.

"I said, 'drop him'!" the FP repeated. _"Now!"_

Her eyes closed, Samus relinquished her grip on Alberson, the director standing on the floor once more. As she let go of his shirt, her fingers brushed against the metal band around her wrist, depressing a small button.

"Hands up!" the FPs shouted in unison, their power pistols whining, ready to be fired. "Do it!"

Slowly, Samus turned around, her hands above her head, her head hung in despair.

Alberson gestured to the FPs. "What are you waiting for? Take her in!"

As the FPs moved toward the former bounty hunter, a steady rumble filled their ears, growing louder by the moment. "What the hell?" the lead FP muttered.

Alberson's eyes grew wide as, outside the massive window, the figure of a small yellow ship moved toward their location at frightening velocity. Understanding washed over him in an instant. Cursing, he gestured frantically toward Samus. "Shoot her! Shoot her! She's going to—"

With a cry, Samus delivered a powerful kick to the abdomen of the FP closet to her. His power pistol fired as his finger involuntarily pulled back on the trigger, sending a bolt of pure energy ricocheting around the office. Curses and screams of panic filled the air as Alberson and the FPs dove to the floor, instinctively covering their heads.

Taking advantage of the diversion, Samus rushed toward the window, hurling her overcoat behind her. Dressed only in her jumpsuit, she concentrated, willing the power stored within her to burst forth.

At her mental command, the energy–matter diffuser unit on her breast glowed white. With a brilliant flash of light, her armor took physical form, encasing her in orange, yellow, and red. The HUD in her visor immediately went to work, filling her vision with layer upon layer of environmental readings, as well as tracking the flight path of the ship now mere klicks from the window.

Turning back toward Alberson and the FPs, Samus smiled slightly beneath her helmet. "You may want to grab onto something," she said.

Alberson's face was white. "Oh, shit—"

A loud explosion tore through the office as the _Fortuna _unleashed a volley of missile fire upon the window. The thick glass was no match for the concussive blast, shattering instantly. The vacuum of space rushed into the office, pulling anything not nailed down into the inky blackness.

Alberson and the FPs gasped for air as they clung desperately to each other, one of the FPs holding onto the frame of the doorway for dear life. The emergency plating within the window frame immediately began to close, thick steel moving quickly to seal off the office from the chaos.

Without pause, Samus leapt through the window, her boots clearing the opening just as the steal closed upon itself. Her helmet's life support system fully operational, she drifted through the weightless void as the yellow spacecraft circled back, moving to intercept her trajectory.

Inside the office, Alberson and the FPs gasped for breath as atmosphere was restored. Alarms rang throughout the station, red light filling the corridors as a fresh squad of FPs rushed through the door.

"Are you all right, sir?!" the commander asked, helping Alberson to his feet.

Finally able to form words, Alberson's white face turned red with anger. "Aran . . . I want her, dammit! Get her! _Now!_"

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	3. Pursuit

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Three**

**Pursuit**

_"You are very lucky you paid for an AI with such exceptional piloting skills."_

Fortuna's comment hung in the air as Samus pulled herself through the entrance hatch of her ship, breathing a sigh of relief as the opening sealed itself, safeguarding her from the hazards of the vacuum beyond. Rolling onto her back, still encased in her armor, she allowed herself a small laugh.

"No, it's all the on-the-job training I've given you," the bounty hunter replied. "You couldn't fly like that when I first had you installed."

_"Touché." _After a slight pause, Fortuna's voice emanated from the nearby speaker once more. _"So . . . What does this mean for us? Just what happened in there?"_

Before Samus could respond, proximity alarms filled the small corridor, the tight hallway now lit up like a Christmas tree. Pulling herself to her feet, Samus raced to the cockpit, sliding into the pilot's seat.

"Does that answer your question?" Glancing at the radar, Samus cursed under her breath. "How the _zelnek _did they scramble a squadron so quickly?"

Her left hand took hold of the stick as she inserted the energy cannon upon her right arm into the custom-designed auxiliary slot at her side. Immediately, every single function of the _Fortuna _fell under her complete control: everything from atmospherics to the exact temperature of the engines.

Samus looked at her radar again, frowning beneath her helmet. _This can't be right! It's not possible! _"Fortuna, tell me I'm seeing things again. . . ."

The AI's voice was less than reassuring. _"I am afraid not, Samus. My sensors indicate half a dozen needles and four cue balls less than five klicks out."_

_ Frelk! _The needles—Federation slang for their first-response fighters, so named for their pointed, narrow design—didn't worry Samus; the _Fortuna _could outmaneuver them easily with one engine completely shut down. But the cue balls were another matter all together. Their spherical, compact design allowed them to move at much greater velocities than any other spacecraft capable of carrying their payload. _And what a payload it is. . . ._

_ "Three klicks out, Samus," _Fortuna said. _"The cue balls, especially, are gaining on us. I estimate they will be within firing range in less than thirty seconds."_

Samus nodded grimly. "How long until we can enter hyperspace?"

Fortuna's response was not what Samus wanted to hear. _"That course of action is an impossibility until we are clear of all of this debris. If we were to engage the jump drive now—"_

"We'd be nothing more than a nice scorch mark on one of these rocks," Samus finished. _Of course the Federation built Fairhaven within a meteor field. What better way to keep your enemies from escaping once they accidentally stumble upon you?_

The still-ringing proximity alarms now screamed in her ears as a bright flash of light flew past the _Fortuna, _just missing the starboard sensor array.

"Shit!" Samus's radar was now a sea of red. The cue balls were almost on top of her, the needles not far behind. Before she could react, the ship shuddered, sparks flying from her instrumentation, as she felt the familiar impact of a cue ball's energy cannons.

_"Aft shielding is down to 50 percent," _Fortuna reported. _"Another direct hit in that quadrant will blow out our shields completely."_

Without hesitation, Samus twisted her right wrist, sending a series of commands through her arm cannon into the ship's systems. "I'm diverting all of our bridge shielding aft," she said. "Hopefully, that'll hold us until—"

Another painful jolt rocked the ship. Fighting with all her might, Samus managed to regain control as the alarms in her ears reached hitherto unheard of intensity.

_"Aft shields are at less than five percent." _Now Fortuna's voice most certainly betrayed a hint of worry. _"Samus?"_

Sweat pouring down her brow, Samus forced herself to drown out the rational portion of her mind, the section telling her it was hopeless, that she should surrender, that she was most certainly going to die if she continued. Drawing upon her years of piloting experience, she reacted instinctively. Without even bothering to apply the brake, she pulled the stick back as far as she could, then quickly launched into a dizzying series of barrel rolls as she drew all extraneous power into the engines.

The cue balls and needles on her tail were caught by surprise as the _Fortuna _suddenly launched itself above them, then instantly somersaulted back toward them, her engines igniting, blue flame illuminating the darkness of space as the small ship suddenly rocketed back toward Fairpoint Station.

Glancing at her radar, Samus let out a cry of triumph as she saw her attackers disappear into the distance. "That ought to keep them busy for a while," she muttered. Cue balls, for all their speed and firepower, were notoriously slow at shifting direction; their inability to turn on a dime had caused many a brave pilot to lose his life in the heat of battle. Needles, while more maneuverable, were unable to make sudden changes in direction without incurring a significant loss in velocity. The Federation had decided years ago that it was far more cost effective to manufacture a large quantity of merely adequate fighters than to invest in a smaller fleet of superior spacecraft.

_Their loss, _Samus thought as she sped back toward Fairpoint. "Fortuna, how long until we're clear to make the jump?"

_"I am already on it," _Fortuna reassured her. _"It shouldn't be long now. We just need to clear the meteors, then we should be able to go wherever you would like."_

"Anywhere," Samus said as the small spacecraft moved toward the ring of space debris on the far side of the station. "Anywhere but here. . . ."

* * *

"What the _frelk _is going on out there?!"

Alberson was beside himself with rage. Standing before the holoproj, his mustachioed lip quivered with fury as he saw the _Fortuna _leave her pursuers in her tracks.

He flipped the comm at his side to "on." "What the hell kind of pilots are you?!" he roared. "You call that flying?! You let her get away!"

"Sorry, sir," the flight leader responded. "We're in pursuit once more. She won't get away—"

"She's already got ten klicks on you, you incompetent idiot!" Alberson screamed. "By the time you catch up with her, she'll have cleared the debris field, and we'll have lost her!"

Without waiting for a response, he turned the comm off. Fuming, he looked at the holoproj once more. The _Fortuna _was now within range of Fairpoint's defenses, but the small spacecraft was too miniscule a target for the station's armaments to reliably attack. Turning to the aid at his side, Alberson took hold of the man's shirt. "Can we pull her in?"

The aid's face was pure white. "I . . . I don't think so, sir. A ship that size, at that velocity . . . By the time we established a lock on her, she would be out of range—"

Alberson released the aid from his grasp, his face now a strange, purplish hue. Moving back to the comm, he switched channels. "Carrier _Defiant, _this is Fairpoint. I need you to corral a bogey for me. Understood?"

The aid's face turned even whiter. "S– . . . Sir," he stammered. "I'm . . . I'm afraid you don't have the authority to—"

The look of genuine malice on Alberson's face silenced the aid immediately. Turning his attention to the holoproj, he smiled malevolently. "Carrier _Defiant, _what do you say?"

* * *

_"Samus, look!"_

The bounty hunter's face fell as she realized what was happening. "I see it, Fortuna. I see it."

Before them, one of the large cruisers near the station was adjusting its position, moving directly into the _Fortuna_'s escape trajectory, cutting off her flight path to the debris field. The cruiser drifted like a leviathan in the inky blackness, the silver glimmer of its hull gleaming as the nearby sun's rays reflected off of it.

Running through her ever-dwindling list of options, Samus glanced at her instrumentation. "Can we double back?"

Her radar answered her query as a fresh wave of needles streamed from Fairpoint, making retreat utterly impossible.

Her stomach churning, Samus made her decision. "Fortuna, draw all defensive power into the bridge shield while I take the engines to sub-5."

Her AI's voice now sounded completely flummoxed. _"Samus . . . You cannot be serious. That much power to the engines could blow—"_

"It won't!" Samus insisted. "I did the modifications myself. They'll hold."

_"But—"_

"Just do it!" the bounty hunter commanded. "Now!"

Not comprehending, the AI complied as Samus tightened her grip on the stick. Twisting the stick hard to port, she fired the engines to their maximum velocity as the gunship sped toward the mighty cruiser, like a fly trying to challenge a dog.

_This will work! _she told herself. _It has to! It _has _to. . . .!_

* * *

Aboard the _Defiant, _Captain Vendross frowned as he noticed something odd on his holoproj. The small ship that was his prey had more than doubled its velocity as it sped toward his carrier. _Impossible! _he thought. _No ship that small can move that fast! The damn computer's malfunctioning again._

"Lieutenant," he hissed toward the man at his side. "What's wrong with this thing now?"

The lieutenant frowned as he examined the holoproj. "Nothing, sir," he said. "Everything is in working order."

"It can't be!" Vendross snapped. "That ship can't be travelling that quickly! The algorithms must be off again." He shook his head in exasperation. _How the hell am I supposed to do my job if I cannot even be given equipment that functions—_

"Sir!"

The lieutenant's voice irritated Vendross's ears. Looking up, he glared at the younger man, prepared to unleash his wrath upon him. "What is it now—"

Vendross fell silent as he saw the lieutenant's face grow pale, his finger pointing wordlessly toward the bridge's window. Vendross's fury turned to fear, his blood as cold as ice as he beheld the sight before his eyes.

The small ship that was his quarry was now barreling toward the _Defiant_'s bridge, her engines blindingly bright with blue light, her velocity too high for the cruiser's cannons to shoot her down.

In the back of his mind, Vendross cursed himself for being stupid enough to listen to Alberson. Regaining his focus, he barked orders at his men. "Target her with the bridge cannons! I don't care if it blows our main grid! I want that ship taken out! And triple the power to the bridge shield! _Now!_"

His men scrambled to carry out his orders as Vendross turned his attention back to the holoproj, doing his best not to reveal just how terrified he was.

The display before him became a sea of flashing light as the bridge cannons unleashed the full fury of their power toward the _Fortuna. _Wave after wave of energy beams shot from the cannons, each one narrowly missing the advancing gunship. Far in the distance, Vendross could see a squadron of needles and cue balls in hot pursuit, doing their best to catch up with the impossibly-fast ship, his experienced eye immediately comprehending that their efforts were in vain, that there was no possible way they could reach her before—

"Sir!"

The lieutenant's voice quavered involuntarily. "She's slipped through our defenses! She's headed straight for the bridge!"

The bridge became eerily silent as the men aboard all turned to the window, the very centers of their beings filled with dread. Helpless, they watched in horror as the gunship sped toward them, her suicidal pilot aiming the vessel toward the nerve center of the mighty carrier.

The bridge filled with screams of panic as the gunship filled the window. Men dove to the ground, bracing themselves for the fiery death that was sure to come. Despite himself, Vendross closed his eyes, preparing to meet whatever afterlife awaited him when—

Nothing happened. _Nothing._

Opening his eyes, Vendross saw that the bridge was perfectly fine, that nothing was destroyed, that somehow the ship had vanished without a trace.

"Where is it?!" he roared, the anger in his voice jolting his men back to attention. "Find that ship! _Find it!_"

"Sir, she's . . . she's already ten klicks behind us!" the navigator called out. "I don't know how, but she—"

Vendross's patience was gone. "Well, turn us around and—"

"Get down! Get down! _Get down!_"

Vendross was about to unleash his wrath upon whoever had dared interrupt him when his eyes caught sight of the window once more. One of the needles in pursuit of their target had been unable to pull up in time. Its prow had struck the _Defiant_'s shielding, sending it careening wildly off course toward the bridge.

Before he could think about reacting, a loud explosion filled his ears, along with a sudden rush of flame, then—

Nothingness.

* * *

On the viewscreen in her visor, Samus witnessed the powerful cruiser slowly dip and collapse upon itself, flame spewing from its bridge. Her heart ached as she realized how many men had just died as a result of her actions, men that had done nothing wrong, that had wives . . . children. _I didn't mean for this to happen, _she thought. _No one should have died! No one!_

_ "Samus?"_

Fortuna's voice drew Samus from her thoughts. "Yes, Fortuna?"

_"Samus, the needles and cue balls have broken off their pursuit. The nearest vessel is now forty klicks behind us. All we have to do is clear the meteors and we can escape."_

Realizing that regret would accomplish nothing, that the men were dead and nothing could change that fact, Samus nodded. Silently, she guided her ship into the debris field, the small spacecraft soon disappearing completely amongst the rocks, heading toward refuge on the far side of the galaxy. . . .

* * *

Alberson collapsed into his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it," he whispered to himself. "She got away. How . . .?"

The aid at his side cleared his throat. "Sir? If I may . . . Aran's reputation suggests that she is particularly adept at escaping certain defeat. Maybe she is more formidable than you realized. . . .?"

Alberson did not respond. Rather, he stood, collected his datapad, and left the room, retreating through the station to his quarters.

As he entered his chambers, Alberson saw his comm blinking, demanding he answer it. He reached out his hand to respond, then thought better of it. _It can wait. It can wait._

Pouring himself a glass of liquor, Alberson rubbed his eyes, still in shock over the events of the day. His sense of dread at having to explain his actions to his superiors—at having to justify the loss of the _Defiant _and her crew in an attempt to capture a single rogue hunter—gave way to pure, unadulterated hatred.

Glancing toward his window, he downed the contents of his glass in a single gulp as he stared at the endless sea of stars that greeted his eyes. _I swear, Aran. No matter where you run to . . . No matter where you try to hide . . . You will _never_ be safe from me. I will find you. I will bring you in. And then, I will watch as they utterly and completely destroy you. . . ._

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	4. Proposal

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Four**

**Proposal**

_Two years later . . ._

The man squinted in the blinding sunlight, his skin already glistening with perspiration mere moments after stepping out of his ship. He had forgotten how much he hated having to pay visits to Trellis V; it had been years since his last excursion, but the temperature was as unrelenting as ever.

The small desert planet, to the relative few familiar with its name, bore the dubious distinction of lying on the fringe of published star charts, both legal and illegal. As such, the Federation held no jurisdiction over it or its fellow systems in the Outlying Territories. Consequently, Trellis V had become known as a safe haven for those unable to trade within Federation territory due to what might charitably be classified as misunderstandings between Federation authorities and themselves. Indeed, the members of the local government were none too eager to quell the black market that brought with it the flow of hard currency—provided they received their share of the transactions, of course.

It was into this environment that the man entered, his long black coat glistening in the noonday sun, his lungs already burning from the acrid temperature of the air as he strode through the main thoroughfare of the port town of Dess Bantoine. _What this place lacks in amenities, _he thought as he made his way past dozens of street vendors, each attempting to entice him to purchasing wares he could easily acquire at half the cost on dozens of other commerce planets, _it most certainly makes up for in personality._

Glancing about the street, his gray eyes scanning row upon row of dilapidated buildings, he allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he found what he was searching for. Crossing the street, he slipped through the huddled mass of locals, ducking into the shadowy darkness of a familiar hole-in-the-wall dive.

A thin smile tugged at his lips as the comforting scent of veldren spice wafted into his nostrils, riding the thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air from countless lit cigarettes. With a slight nod to the man behind the bar—an old friend with whom he had enjoyed a successful working relationship—he settled into a corner booth, his eyes surveying the familiar establishment.

"Can I help you?"

He looked up, a roguish grin forming amid the stubble of his five 'o clock shadow as he took in the figure of the waitress standing above him. "Well, that depends on what I need, I suppose," he said, resting his elbows on the table. Reaching into his pocket, he slid a hundred-credit disc toward her. "I'll take a Vandrallian bourbon neat for now. And, if you're interested, the rest is yours after your shift if you'd like to become better acquainted . . ."

Rolling her eyes, the waitress took the credit, stuffing it into her pocket, tossing a his change back to him. "No thanks, space jockey. You're not my type."

_Well, that's disappointing. _"And what exactly is your type?" the man inquired.

"Anyone who doesn't smell like he's spent a week soaking in beldrek piss." With a wry grin, the waitress left to fetch his drink.

_Win some, lose some, _the man reflected as he turned his attention back to the dim lighting of the drinking hole. Glancing at the chronometer on his wrist, he stroked the stubble on his chin. He had traveled quite far out his way just for the opportunity to finally encounter the quarry he had been hunting for quite some time. His sources—his very expensive sources, he reminded himself—had finally given him what he had been assured was reliable information. _Same time every day without fail, _they had assured him. _You can't possibly miss . . ._

Looking at his chronometer again, his eyes scanning the portrait on his datapad as he looked about the room for anyone who might possibly resemble his target, he felt his sense of anticipation disappear, replaced with embarrassment and fury. He barely noticed as the waitress placed his drink next to him, so consumed was he with his own thoughts. _It's been ten _frelking _minutes, _he thought. _'Same time without fail' . . . _His brow furrowed. _When I find those sons of bitches that lied to me, I'm going to—_

His heart nearly ceased beating in his chest. On the far side of the room, he could make out through the thick cloud of blue smoke a figure that . . . _I don't believe it!_

Calmly sipping his drink, he focused his attention on the woman seated alone, his keen eyesight taking in every feature. Glancing at his datapad, he compared the portrait to the woman he was so diligently studying. Looking at her long legs, he imagined her standing, nodding as he realized her height matched the description he had been given. Her hair was darker, its blonde color now muted and dimmed by the same layer of dirt and grim that covered her face and coveralls.

_There's no mistaking it, _he told himself. _It's her!_

Downing the remaining contents of his glass, he stood, casually crossing toward her, waiting until her attention was focused toward the glass on the table before quickly sliding himself into the chair across from her.

The woman stared at him in astonishment at his brashness, her eyes narrow with suspicion. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, crossing himself in mock remorse. "Were you waiting for someone?"

"What if I was?" Her eyes were little more than narrow slits as she quickly studied his appearance.

"Well, in that case," the man said. "I'll leave as soon as they arrive, I promise. But until then, I thought we could—"

"Not interested."

_Twice in one day, _he contemplated, his ego now slightly bruised. _You must be losing your touch. _Turning on all the charm he could muster, he took hold of her hand. "At least let me buy you a drink—"

"Get away from me," she hissed, pulling her hand away. _"Now."_

Had he been an ordinary man, he was certain he would have melted under the fury of her stare. But he was no ordinary man. Laughing, he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. "Your reputation precedes you," he said. "You're just like the stories I've heard. 'Ice Queen Aran,' that's what they—"

His experienced eye could not fail to notice her slight, sudden intake of breath at the mention of that name. Recovering quickly, she leaned toward him. "I don't know who you think I am, but I don't know anybody named Aran. My name is Clemens—"

"We both know that's a lie." He held up a long strand of hair he had removed from the back of her palm, the strand that had fallen from her head and laid to rest on her arm. Wordlessly, he inserted it into a small apparatus he had withdrawn from within his coat. The machine hummed for a few moments as it analyzed the strand. A small beep sang out from the device as it finished its task. _Identification confirmed, _a voice acknowledged. _Subject identified with 99.89 percent probability as Samus Aran._

He smiled at her. "So, Ms. Clemens. Would you like to try—"

In an instant, his face was pressed against the table, blood trickling from a large gash in his forehead, his arms pinned behind him as she leaned over him from behind, her knee pressing into the small of his back, having seemingly defied the laws of physics, leaping across the table faster than even his well-conditioned vision could comprehend. _How in the hell did she—_

He grimaced as he felt a smooth metal object press into his spine, its shape betraying its function as recognition dawned upon him.

"Don't make a sound," the woman hissed in his ear. "Understand?" She paused as she looked around, relieved to see that no one was paying any attention to her activities, the smoky haze obscuring the altercation.

She pressed the power pistol in her hand into his back. "You know what this is? Nod if you do."

Not seeing any other choice, the man nodded, his temple throbbing.

"Good." The woman took hold of his collar, sharply pulling him up into his chair once more, forcibly sitting him down. Her weapon trained upon him, she crawled back across the table, sitting back in her seat, concealing her gun beneath the table.

"Now," she said. "Who sent you?"

The man raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to keep from laughing lest it be interpreted the wrong way. _Very impressive, girl. Very impressive indeed. _"I believe you have the wrong impression of me, Ms. Aran. I'm not someone's errand boy. I came here because _I _wanted to meet with you."

Samus frowned. "How . . . How did you find me?"

The man smiled. "It wasn't easy, I'll admit. You've covered your tracks very well, Ms. Aran. Hiding out in the Outlying Territories was a wise choice. The locals are much less likely to pick up news bulletins from the Federation out here. And those who do receive them are less inclined to believe them than most."

"You still haven't answered my question," Samus said. "And my trigger finger's getting very tired of just sitting here . . ."

The man took a hold of Samus's glass, taking a long sip from the liquor within. "I'm a very powerful man, Ms. Aran. I'm used to getting what I want. And when I want something badly enough, money is no object."

"Spies?" Samus's eyes involuntarily darted about the smoky establishment. "That's how you found me, isn't it? You have people working for you everywhere, don't you?"

The man shrugged. "Never underestimate the power of hard currency, Ms. Aran. Especially in an environment where the government has failed in its obligation to ensure its citizens are protected. You'd be surprised to see just how little it takes to convince someone . . ."

"I'd imagine so," Samus countered. She looked the man directly in the eye. "You said you wanted to meet with me?"

"Indeed," the man said. "I am in need of someone with your unique talents, Ms. Aran. Someone I can depend upon. Someone who will not cross me at the last minute."

"You've come to the wrong place," Samus said. "I'm retired. I've lived that life, and look what it's gotten me."

"Oh, come now, Aran," the man, shaking his head. "You? Retired?" He laughed. "You're a young woman in your prime. You shouldn't be holed up on this godforsaken chunk of desert. You should be out in space, hunting down escaped criminals, collaring the scum of the galaxy. 'Delivering justice for those the system cannot or will not help.'" He grinned as Samus's eye twitched. "Recognize those words?"

"That . . . That was from my thesis I wrote at the Academy," Samus murmured. "I earned a lieutenant's commission because of it." She grabbed hold of the man's collar once more, pulling him close to her. "How did you find that?"

"I know everything about you, Aran," he said. "How your parents were murdered by the Pirates when you were just a girl. How the Chozo found you, raised you as their own. How they gave you that unique armor of yours. How you left them to join the Academy, thinking you could make a difference. Your spectacular yearlong stint in the Militia upon graduation and your subsequent exit . . ." He shrugged. "It hasn't been easy piecing together the details of your life, Aran. But, like I said: When currency talks . . ."

Samus rose to her feet. "Still not interested."

"Really?" The man looked at the Amazon before him, her coveralls doing little to conceal her athletic frame. "Don't tell me working the loading docks at this pathetic planet's port is what you want to do for the rest of your life."

"I like the Outlying Territories," Samus said. "No one bothers me. At least, not until _you _showed up."

"Fine." The man threw up his hands. "Go ahead, Aran. Leave. Don't even bother to listen to what I have to offer you."

Samus glared at him. "There's no amount of currency you could offer that could make me reconsider." Turning away, she started to walk away.

"Not even if I could help you clear your name?"

Samus froze momentarily, slowly turning around. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"You heard me." The man looked her in the eye. "I can help you get back in the Federation's good graces. I can get you working for them again. All of this . . . Your exile . . . Having to hide . . . It can all end."

Samus's voice was barely audible. "How?"

"Easy," the man replied. "I have proof of how you were set up. _I know who ruined your life._"

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	5. Panic

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Five**

**Panic**

Samus wasted no time. Grabbing hold of his throat, she pressed him against the wall, her power pistol pressed to his chest.

"Who was it?" she hissed. "Tell me! Was it Alberson?! _Was it?!_"

The man looked at her, his expression betraying amusement rather than fear. "You're drawing quite a bit of attention to yourself, aren't you, Aran? Not exactly something a woman on the run wants, is it?"

The former bounty hunter took a deep breath, her anger subsiding, the rational portion of her mind regaining control. Begrudgingly realizing he was right, she released her hold on him, holstering her weapon.

"That's better." The man twisted his neck, an audible crack filling the air. "Oh, _that _hit the spot . . ."

"You said you knew who framed me," Samus said, her arms folded, her patience running thin. "Care to fill me in?"

"Oh, that." The man grinned as he scratched his stubble-laden chin. "I'll gladly divulge that information with you, Aran. It pains my heart to see an innocent woman hung out to dry—"

"Spare me the theatrics," Samus snapped, rolling her eyes. "The name."

"All good things to those who wait," the man said. "Besides, why would I tell you now when you haven't even done anything for me yet?"

"I've let you live," Samus hissed. "I could kill you easily if I wanted to. No one here would even know."

"You could," the man conceded. "But, think about it for a moment. Do you think I'm stupid enough to come here without a backup plan? I have men who are waiting for me to inform them that I came out of this meeting alive. Should I fail to inform them, they have been instructed to hunt you down. And, unlike the Federation, these men will stop at nothing until you have died a very, very painful death . . ."

"I could take that chance," Samus said.

"But you won't." The man crossed his own arms. "Like I said, I've learned all about you, Aran. The only kills you've made in your career have been those who deserve to die. You've killed only in the heat of battle, when you had no other choice. You don't have the stomach to kill me in cold blood."

"I'm always willing to learn new tricks," Samus snapped.

"Excellent." The man regarded her carefully, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "You'll need to do so if you're going to be successful with what I need from you."

"I haven't agreed to a _frelking _thing yet," Samus countered. "I—"

She paused, a worried look crossing her face as she glanced over her shoulder. An uncomfortable feeling filled the pit of her stomach.

The man stepped forward, curious to see what had caught her attention. "What? What do you—"

His breath caught in his throat. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit!_

"Aran, I think we will need to continue this conversation elsewhere—"

Glancing to his side, he saw that Samus had disappeared, leaving no trace that she had ever been present. _Son of a—_

Before he could do the same, he sensed something moving behind him. Instinctively, he whirled about, his fist colliding with a man's throat. His attacker staggered backward, choking, falling to the floor, desperately trying to fill his lungs once more with air.

"Hold it right there!"

The unmistakable whine of a power pistol charging rang in his ears. Reluctantly, he raised his hands, slowly turning around.

Five men in khaki apparel stood before him, their arms lined with tattoos, their weapons pointed directly at his head. The leader stepped forward, pulling up his shaded goggles, a wry grin on his face as he puffed on a thick cigar.

"Hello, Erelik," the smoking man said.

The man addressed as Erelik laughed. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. You must be mistaken. I have my ID chip here and—"

"Save it." The leader blew a thick plume of smoke into Erelik's face. "It's counterfeit. Just like everything else about you. And we thought we'd never find you . . ."

Erelik grimaced. "Just out of curiosity, how, pray tell, did you find me?"

It was the leader's turn to laugh. "You pay your associates quite well. But were able to offer them a better arrangement."

_Of course, _Erelik thought. _Apparently my informants are for sale to the highest bidder. Not that I blame them . . ._

"I don't suppose we could just have a drink together and call it even," Erelik offered. "I'll gladly buy—"

"You know we can't," the leader said with a laugh. "It's nothing personal, of course. You're a pretty big fish, Erelik. Unfortunately for you, there are bigger fish in the sea who'll pay quite a pretty credit disc to watch you squirm."

With a click, the leader lowered his pistol's power setting. "Now, be a good lad and hold still while I stun you. This shouldn't hurt . . . much."

"That's what they always say," Erelik muttered, looking about as he tried to find some way to escape. "Are you sure I can't—"

The air suddenly became even hotter as a concussive blast hurled Erelik and his attackers across the room. Fragments of wood and glass rained down upon them, liquor from broken bottles drenching their clothing.

"No power pistols!" the proprietor screamed, diving for cover as the terrified screams of his patrons echoed throughout the room. "Not in my place!"

The leader of the khaki-clad group groaned as he pulled himself to his knees, his ears still ringing from the explosion. His eyes widened in shock as he beheld the sight before them.

_It can't be! It just can't be!_

Slowly walking toward him, immersed in the smoke-laden atmosphere, was a tall figure encased in orange, red, and yellow armor. The green glimmer from the visor upon its helmet fixated its attention upon him, as if studying his very soul, judging him like some arcane demon.

_Aran!_

The leader drew his weapon as he leapt to his feet. "We've got a problem here, boys!" he called out. "Take her out before—"

Chaos descended upon the establishment as beams of energy from five different power pistols exploded through the air, all converging toward the armored figure of Samus Aran. Quickly, impossibly, Samus leapt into the air, somersaulting forward as the beams of light collided with each other. The combined force of the concentrated bolts of energy reacted according to the fundamental laws of physics as their combined electrical charge expanded outward, the resulting explosion tearing a large hole in the far wall.

The leader hardly had time to react before Samus landed before him. Her armored fist collided with his jaw, sending him flying backward, his head colliding with table behind him, his vision suddenly filling with stars.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, Samus whirled around, delivering a quick kick to the abdomen of one of the khaki-clad attackers. The uncomfortable sound of metal meeting muscle filled the air as her would-be assailant doubled over in agony.

Her HUD flashing red, Samus quickly turned toward her left, the cannon on her arm glistening as a bolt of white light shot forth from it. The energy beam glistened as it made contact with the light fixture attached to the ceiling, sending it crashing down upon the three remaining attackers, their screams filling the air as the heavy decoration pinned their legs to the ground.

Now shrouded in total darkness, the already-panicked patrons rushed toward the light streaming from the newly-formed hole in the wall, desperately trying to escape the battle raging around them. The less fortunate lost their footing in the mayhem, their screams of pain going unnoticed as the mob crushed them beneath their feet.

Switching on her visor's thermal vision, Samus walked toward a dazed figure upon the floor. Taking hold of his hand, she pulled Erelik to his feet. The man squinted in the darkness, the green light from Samus's visor filling his vision.

"Well, then," he said. "Nicely done—"

"Did you mean what you said?"

Even through the electronic distortion caused by her helmet, Erelik could sense the urgency in Samus's voice. He nodded. "Every word."

Samus stood in silence, immersed in thought. "If I do this job for you, you'll help me clear my name? You'll help me get my life back?"

Erelik rested his hand on the bulging shoulder pad of Samus's armor. "You have my word. For what it's worth, that is. And that's all depending on who you ask . . ."

Realizing she had little choice, Samus knew what she had to do. "All right. You have a deal."

She stood perfectly still as a distant sound filled her ears. Recognition dawning upon her, she grabbed hold of Erelik's hand. "We need to get out of here. Right now."

"What?" Erelik followed the former bounty hunter as she led him through the darkened bar to an exit in the back of the establishment. "What's the matter?"

"Local law enforcement," Samus responded as she opened the door. "They're not the most motivated in the galaxy, nor are they the most competent, but they won't hesitate to kill on sight. They tend to enjoy that aspect of their job." She turned back to Erelik. "What? I thought you already knew all of this."

"Has it really gotten that bad since the last time I was here?" Erelik muttered as they emerged into the alley behind the bar, the hot sunlight washing over them.

"How long's it been?" Samus whispered back, her eyes darting about, searching for any sign that they had been spotted.

"Five standard years," Erelik replied.

"Then, yes," Samus said. "Yes, it has."

Satisfied that the alley was clear, Samus gestured for Erelik to follow her, her arm cannon at the ready. "If we hurry," she said as they moved through the alley, "we can get you back to your ship before—"

"Freeze!"

_Oh, _frelk_! _Samus cursed under her breath as half a dozen officers rushed down the alleyway toward her and Erelik. Glancing back at Erelik, she studied the distance between the two buildings on either side of her. _So much for doing this the easy way . . ._

"Grab hold of my waist," she whispered as the officers drew nearer.

Erelik looked at Samus incredulously. "Really? You want me to cop a feel on you _now_?" His fingers brushed against the power pistol holstered at his hip as their pursuers drew closer. "And to think, usually I have to buy a girl a couple of drinks first—"

"Just do it!" Samus hissed as she bent her knees, turning to face the building to her right.

Not knowing what the armored woman had in mind, Erelik did as she asked, locking his arms around her. "Now, what are you planning to do about—"

He felt the wind leave his lungs as Samus launched herself toward the building before her. As her legs and hand made contact with the smooth stone, she pushed off in the opposite direction, her body responding to the years of training she had endured, the Chozo blood flowing through her veins enhancing the strength of her muscles.

_She's insane! _Erelik thought as they rocketed toward the building on the opposite side of the alley. _We're going to—_

As Samus touched the second building, she reversed direction, leaping back across the alley at a 45-degree angle, gaining velocity and altitude as she did so.

The stunned officers below recovered from their surprise. Their power pistols erupted as bolt upon bolt of energy shot toward the armored bounty hunter and her companion, narrowly missing her as she continued to leap from building to building until her form disappeared among the rooftops.

As they made contact with the roof, Erelik released his grip on Samus, rolling across the stone until he came to a stop. Dusting himself off, he stood, looking upon Samus in admiration. "That . . . That was . . ." He swallowed as he regained control of himself, his calm demeanor descending upon him once more. "That was exactly what I'm paying you for, Aran." He looked about, realizing they were high above Dess Bantoine. "You do have a plan to get out of here that doesn't involve us waiting here until our friends down there figure out how to climb?"

Samus did not respond as she typed a sequence of numbers into the cannon on her arm. Satisfied, she lowered her arm. "We'll be fine. I've just called for backup."

Erelik shook his head. "You have friends here? How nice . . ."

"I have _one _friend," Samus shot back. "And she's on her way now."

"Fantastic," Erelik muttered, throwing up his hands. "Well, I hope she's bringing some heavy firepower with her, or maybe a shuttle of some kind to get us off this rock—"

"Hands up, goddammit!"

Samus and Erelik turned around to see twenty police swarming through the door, their weapons trained upon them, five of them carrying large-barreled mobile cannons.

Erelik laughed despite himself. "Look at that, Aran. What did I tell you? They figured out how to climb stairs after all. And it only took . . ." He glanced at his chronometer. "Six minutes." He clapped his hands. "Congratulations, boys—"

"I said 'hands up'!" The police officer glanced to his colleagues. "Just give us a reason. We've been _dying _for something to do—"

"Hold it right there!"

Samus, Erelik, and the police turned to the other side of the roof to see the khaki-clad mercenaries climbing up the fire escape. Half of the police immediately turned their weapons to the new arrivals, the other half still keeping their attention on the armored bounty hunter and her companion.

"Who the hell are you?!" the police officer shouted. "Get out of here before I have you and your crew arrested for interfering in police business—"

"Oh, stuff it," the mercenary leader snapped, chomping on his cigar. "These two belong to me. You're not taking them anywhere."

"Don't even try it!" the police officer roared. "They're coming with us, and that's final!"

_Oh, please! _Wordlessly, Samus noted the information that scrolled across her HUD. _I don't have time for this. _

Before anyone realized what was happening, she stepped to the edge of the roof, leaping over the edge, falling to the street below.

Erelik and the others fell silent as they struggled to comprehend what they had just witnessed. _Fantastic, _Erelik thought. _My new employee just killed herself. Perfect . . ._

The mercenary leader glared at Erelik. "Your friend chose a coward's death," he hissed. "Pathetic. But . . ." A malicious glem filled his eyes. "When I get my hands on you, I am going to make your life very, very miserable before I finally hand you in—"

His voice trailed off as a low rumble filled the air. All upon the rooftop looked toward the edge of the building in astonishment as a yellow gunship swooped up from below. The vessel unleashed a volley of energy bursts upon the police and the mercenaries, sending them scattering in panic.

The ship circled back around, coming to rest before Erelik at the edge of the roof. The black-garbed man gasped in astonishment as he peered into the ship's cockpit. _Well, I'll be damned . . ._

Samus's voice rang out through the ship's external comm. "Come on!" she shouted. "Get it!"

Erelik looked toward the open entry hatch on top of the ship, shaking his head in disbelief. Glancing behind him, he saw the mercenaries and the police rising, their weapons aiming toward him. Getting a running start, he leapt from the roof toward the ship. _I'm getting much too old for this—_

Grunting as he made contact with the smooth metal, he grabbed hold of the open hatch, clinging to it as though his life depended upon it as a volley of power pistol blasts and mobile cannon fire rang out around him. "Go!" he screamed into the hatch. "Get us the _frelk _out of here!"

The ship rose high into the air, not stopping until it was well out of range of the weapons in the possession of the men aboard the roof. As the ship flew toward the horizon, Erelik rolled through the hatch, allowing the small elevator to lower him into the ship.

Standing, he made his way to the cockpit, standing behind the armor-clad woman. "You could have told me your friend was a ship," he said.

"What?" Samus responded as she pulled back on the stick, angling the _Fortuna _toward the atmosphere above. "And ruin the surprise?"

Erelik shook his head as he scratched his stubble. "So . . . This means you're in, correct?"

"Do I have a choice?" Samus said.

"Point taken." Erelik looked about the cockpit, frowning. "Where's your navigation system? I need to enter our coordinates."

"Just say them out loud," Samus said. "Fortuna will take it from there."

"'Fortuna'?" Erelik frowned. "Who the hell is—"

_"Samus, I am not sure I approve of the idea of bringing a complete stranger aboard."_

Erelik nearly jumped out his skin in surprise. "You . . . You have AI on board? A ship this small has—"

"Her name is Fortuna," Samus stated. "And she doesn't like to be called 'AI.' She's very sensitive about that."

Erelik snorted. "So . . . This is your friend, is it?"

_"I am right here," _Fortuna's voice rang out. _"I would appreciate it if you would stop treating me as if I cannot hear you."_

"Right," Erelik muttered. "You're a very interesting character, Aran."

"Glad you think so," Samus shot back. "I'd hate for us to become bored with each other." She glanced over her shoulder toward Erelik as the _Fortuna _cleared Trellis V's atmosphere, the blackness of space surrounding them once more. "Now . . . Where are we going, exactly?"

Sighing, Erelik looked toward the speaker to his left. "All right . . . Fortuna," he said, rolling his eyes. _I can't believe I'm treating a _frelking _computer like a person! _"Here's where we're going. . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	6. Quarry

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Six**

**Quarry**

Samus leaned back in her chair, her eyes gazing at the blur of stars outside the cockpit window. "What's our ETA, Fortuna?" she said, running her eyes over the sea of displays on the console before her.

The AI's voice crackled over the speaker. _"Assuming our . . . friend's information is accurate, we should arrive at the coordinates he provided in approximately three standard hours."_

Seated in the navigator's chair behind Samus, Erelik shook his head. "Damn, she's brutal, isn't she?"

"Don't blame her," Samus said. "I had her programmed that way."

"Ah, I see." Erelik scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "Didn't want the apple to fall too far from the tree . . ."

Ignoring the comment, Samus glanced toward the drawer to her right. "You're probably hungry," she said. "There's ration bars in there. Their taste leaves a lot to be desired, but they'll do the trick."

Erelik smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be damned if I ever eat another of those again. Three years in a Federation holding cell with only those god-awful things to eat will do that do you." He leaned forward, his eyes fixated upon his new employee. "Do you always travel in your armor?" he asked. "That can't be too comfortable—"

"I'm used to it," Samus interrupted, glancing out the cockpit window as she confirmed the ship was still on the correct trajectory. "Besides, it's been a long time since I've had it active for this long. I want to make sure there aren't any issues."

A laugh erupted from Erelik's throat. "Based on what I saw back in the city, I don't have anything to worry about." He ran his hand over the thick orange plating on Samus's shoulder. "An absolutely fascinating piece of technology. I've seen a number of attempts at powered armor in my time, but never anything that so perfectly weds aesthetics with deadliness." He frowned. "Indulge me, Aran. How does this work, anyway?"

It was Samus's turn to laugh. "I thought you knew everything about me already."

"Some details are . . . less than crystal." Erelik shrugged. "Like what happened to cause you to abandon your promising career in the militia, for starters—"

"It's biomechanical," Samus stated, shifting the subject. "The armor is fused with the very essence of my being, activating only when I employ an intense amount of focus and concentration." Her lip curled in a grimace as memories of intense pain played through her mind. "The process was . . . less than pleasant. It was well worth it, however. It's less like armor and more like a second skin, if that makes any sense."

"Interesting," Erelik commented. "This fusion, I suppose, precludes anyone from taking it from you without your permission."

"It can't be done," Samus said with a shake of her head. "Not even if I wanted to. The Chozo . . . My family . . . That is the gift they gave me before I left. A gift they reserved only for their worthiest champions . . ."

Shaking her head, the bounty hunter turned her attention to the situation at hand. "Enough reminiscing," she said. Glancing back at Erelik, she frowned. "You still haven't told me just what you wanted to hire me for yet. I'm breaking every rule of my profession here. I never accept a contract unless I know exactly what the specs are first."

Wordlessly, Erelik reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a small silver disc. He depressed a button on its side, conjuring a holographic projection of a sector of space. Planets, suns, moons, stars danced and orbited each other as Erelik looked at Samus, his eyes gleaming. "Do you know where this is, Aran?"

Samus looked at the projection, nodding as recognition came upon her. "Of course I do," she said. "It's the Qualtak system. The three moons around the main planet give it away."

"Not bad," Erelik conceded. "What do you know about it?"

"It . . . It's a rock," Samus stated. "None of the planets are inhabitable. The entire region was hit with space debris eons ago, turning it into a barren wasteland." Turning her chair around, her eyes stared questioningly at Erelik through her helmet's visor. "What does this have to do with—"

"Look at this." Erelik placed a second disc next to the first. The new device projected an overlay onto the first holograph, the various planets now ringed with a thin layer of orange light.

Samus frowned. "These are the energy readings in the system?" She looked back at Erelik, not comprehending. "What's your point, Erelik? I'm not seeing anything unusual—"

"These readings were taken eight standard months ago," Erelik informed her. "My people took them."

Samus rolled her eyes. "What a nice hobby you have."

"No." Erelik's eyes narrowed as a wicked smile tugged at his lips. "Business. It's in my interests to know as much as I can about every corner of the galaxy, Aran. Information is power, especially if you have knowledge no one else possesses." He gestured toward the dual holograms emanating from the discs. "If you're looking for something out of the ordinary, you're wasting your time. The metrics are exactly what should be expected for a system of desolate planets."

Erelik pressed another button on the second disc. "These readings, however, were taken just three standard weeks ago. Notice anything unusual?"

Samus inhaled sharply as she noted the obvious difference. "These . . . These can't be right. It's not possible—"

"I thought the same thing when I first saw them," Erelik admitted. "That's why I had two separate teams sweep the system. Discreetly, of course. There's no mistake, Aran. The data are undeniable."

Samus brought her metal-enclosed fingers to the projection, her digits passing through the spectral spheres. The planet Qualtak Beta was now encased in a swath of orange light. "How could the energy sigs change so drastically in eight months?" she asked. "It's like an army moved in—"

"Precisely!"

A triumphant gleam filled Erelik's eyes. "You see, Aran? A very big fish has set up shop on Qualtak Beta. And I intend to reel him in. With your help, of course . . ."

"Who?" Samus stared at Erelik. "Who is it I'm supposed to collar?"

"An old friend of mine," Erelik responded, leaning back in his chair once more. "Well, not so much a friend as a competitor. You may have heard of him. His name is Anton Garrick."

"Anton Garrick . . ." Samus's eyebrows furrowed beneath her visor. "Why does that name sound familiar—"

_"Samus."_

Fortuna's voice came through the speaker once more. _"If I may, Captain Anton Garrick was one of the greatest military minds the Federation has ever produced. He and his men were responsible for single-handedly crushing the Vuldrun Rebellion, thanks in large part to the unique strategy he employed. If my databanks are correct, that strategy is now taught at the Academy in advanced battle technique courses. It is known as the 'Garrick Maneuver.'"_

Samus's eyes lit up in recognition. "I remember that now . . . That move should have annihilated his ship and his crew, but—"

"But the Vuldrun didn't think he was brilliant enough—or insane enough—to actually follow through with it." A dark look fell across Erelik's face. "Clearly, they were incorrect."

Samus nodded. "No one had ever brought a cruiser in line with a ship the size of the Vuldrun flagship before. It was a suicidal move."

"And it should have been," Erelik said. "Until Garrick engaged his ship's jump drive with the flagship in his vessel's gravitational field. And with his ship's engines perfectly aligned with the Vuldrun's navigational controls." He shook his head. "When his ship went into hyperspace, the Vuldrun were dragged along for the ride. Of course, you can imagine what happens to a ship that's not properly prepped to make the jump when it's suddenly propelled at that sort of velocity. It wasn't a pretty sight, believe me . . ."

Samus frowned. "You talk as if you were there . . ."

Erelik cleared his throat, not acknowledging Samus's comment. "Anyway, Garrick was hailed a hero. He was on the fast track to be named Fleet Admiral, or so the stories say. Until, a little more than twenty years ago, the Feds sent him on one last assignment . . ."

"Wait a minute." Samus shook her head. "I paid attention in history class at the Academy, Erelik. Garrick died on that last mission. Because he was the best pilot in the Federation, he was supposed to rendezvous with a squad of needles and escort them on a routine training mission. But when his ship came out of hyperspace at the meeting point, he was ambushed by a band of mercenaries and killed instantly."

Erelik laughed out loud. "Is that what they've been telling the grunts at the Academy, Aran? Honestly, do you hear what you're saying? Do you actually think the best pilot in the Federation would be incapable of handling a gaggle of untrained flyboys?"

He shook his head in dismay. "No, Aran. Garrick wasn't ambushed by mercenaries. He was attacked by the very men he was supposed to train. The minute he disengaged his fighter's jump drive, twenty needles opened fire on him."

Samus felt her blood run cold. "The Federation . . . They used their own men against him? Why would they—"

Erelik shrugged. "From what I've gathered over the years, someone in the Federation wasn't particularly happy with the progress he was making through the ranks and wanted him out of the way. So he sent a secret communiqué to the squadron informing them that the pilot assigned to the training mission had been killed, his ship commandeered by rogue assassins. Their orders were to eliminate Garrick's ship at all costs." Erelik rubbed his stubble once more. "I found this out years later, of course, straight from the man who gave the order himself. It was a rather pleasant conversation, you might imagine. You should have heard him scream, Aran. His voice had such a unique timbre, like music to my ears. It was almost a shame when I finally had to kill him . . ."

Samus exhaled sharply. "So . . . So, you're telling me that Garrick survived?"

"He did more than survive, Aran," Erelik replied. "He _thrived. _Having killed off the entire squadron—the only men who knew he was still alive, by the way—with almost no effort, unable to return to the Feds, Garrick did the only thing he could do: He sold his services to the highest bidder." A mirthless laugh emitted from Erelik's throat. "Oh, if only that lovely man within the Federation had known just what he was unleashing upon the galaxy . . ."

Samus sat in silence for a moment as she contemplated this sudden rush of information. "Assuming you're telling the truth—"

"A dangerous assumption, I'll admit," Erelik said.

Samus ignored him. "Assuming you're telling the truth, that would make Garrick—"

"Quite possibly the most dangerous man in the known galaxy." Erelik leaned forward. "My men have kept tabs on Garrick ever since we first found out he was still alive. He's gotten himself immersed in quite a number of lucrative fields: currency laundering, weapons smuggling, contracted killings . . ." He took a deep breath. "He's declared a one-man war against the Feds and any system that's allied themselves with them. He doesn't only want revenge, Aran. He wants to watch the entire galaxy burn."

"And make a _frelking _load of currency in the process," Samus muttered.

Erelik threw up his hands. "Well, you can hardly fault him for that, Aran. I understand him quite well in that regard. If you're going to go to all that trouble, you might as well be able to live comfortably . . ."

Samus studied Erelik intently. "What exactly is your interest in this? Why do I have the feeling this is more than just business?"

"What?" Erelik appeared hurt. "What if I want to just do what I can to help rid the galaxy of such a dangerous man? Why do you need to be so cynical?"

"Because nobody does that," Samus retorted. "What exactly are you planning?"

Erelik placed his hand on Samus's weapon-encased right arm. "I'm a very powerful man as it is, Aran. But even my own influence is somewhat . . . limited in comparison to Garrick's. But if his business were to, how should I say, be taken over by new management . . ."

Samus shook her head, a derisive laugh leaving her throat. "Trading one criminal for another. Hardly an improvement . . ."

"Oh, stop with your moralizing, Aran," Erelik said. "You'll sleep better at night." His face lit up as he realized where they were. "Perhaps this will help ease your troubled conscience."

Erelik pulled another haloids from his pocket. "I just happened to come across this several years ago while scavenging the wreckage of a wrecked Pirate ship." He pressed the button on the side. "Have a look at this."

Samus squinted as the bright light of the holodisc filled the cockpit. Before her eyes stood the image of a man dressed entirely in black. His close-cropped hair shone like silver, his face lined with scars from countless battles. He looked a few years older than the images she had seen at the Academy, but there was no mistaking his identity.

"Garrick," she whispered to herself. Glancing back toward Erelik, she frowned. "What is this? Where did you—"

Erelik brought a finger to his lips, commanding the bounty hunter to listen. The image before her spoke, his voice gravelly, filled with authority.

_"I have the information you wanted,"_ the image of Garrick said to an unknown speaker. _"It wasn't easy to come by, but I think you'll be satisfied."_

A garbled language hissed in reply through the comm system before Garrick, the crude tongue practically dripping with hostility.

Samus's eyes widened as she recognized the language. "He was working with the Pirates?" she whispered, her face turning pale. "How old is this—"

Erelik interrupted her. "This is an older recording, made a few years after he left the Feds."

Garrick's voice filled the cockpit once more. _"I've been able to confirm what you wanted to know. The Feds have colonized K-2L. They're planning on making a fortune from the ore there. They've already got a number of crews dispersed across the planet . . ."_

Samus felt her heart skip several beats. _Just a few years after he left the Feds? I would have been only . . ._

Another wave of garbled words filled the cockpit. The image of Garrick nodded, his muscular arms folded across his torso.

_"I wouldn't worry about their defenses,"_ he responded. _"They think they're so damn clever. They've barely got any military presence on the planet. They want it to be some sort of 'civilian-led initiative,' whatever the _frelk _that means. If I were you, I'd take the planet with all the force you have. It would be over in a matter of hours, a regular slaughter—"_

The image disappeared as Samus's left hand grabbed hold of the disc, squeezing it tightly, metal turning to scraps beneath the pressure of her armored fist. A roar of rage tore at her throat, tears threatening to burst from her eyes as her entire body quaked with fury.

Taking several deep breaths, Samus calmed herself, turning to look at Erelik. "That was real?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Erelik nodded affirmatively. "That's right." He asked his next question carefully. "So . . . Do you still have any doubts about—"

"No."

Samus turned her attention to the blur of stars outside the cockpit, her stomach churning in anger. "He sold out the colony on K-2L to the Pirates. He told them we were there. He's the reason my parents are . . ."

Biting her lip, Samus increased the power to the jump drive, eager to arrive at their destination. "You don't have to worry about me, Erelik," she said. "I have all the motivation I need . . ."

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


	7. Bravo

**With Friends Like These . . .**

**Chapter Seven**

**Bravo**

_She looked around the disintegrating remains of the compound, flame dancing across charred fragments of splintered wood, darkening once-brilliant metal with blackness. For a moment, she lost her sense of location: she was no longer with her squad on Acheron B9, but instead was back on a mining colony many years ago, her frightened cries—the screams of a terrified child desperately searching for her mother—ringing in her ears, her eyes playing tricks on her as she was certain from the shadows—_Impossible_, she tried to convince herself—she swore she saw the menacing form of the dragon beast moving toward her, his sharp talons prepared to—_

_ "What are our orders, ma'am?!"_

_ She was jolted back to reality as the corporal shook her shoulder, his inexperienced eyes filled with terror, their routine mission suddenly compromised beyond anyone's wildest imagination._

_ The terrified grunt could barely maintain his grip on his pulse rifle, so obvious were the tremors wracking his arms. One shaking finger moved to his temple, his eyes growing even wider as he realized the digit was now coated in crimson liquid._

_ The warrior in her took command of the situation. "Bravo Boys, fall back!" she shouted into her comm, her eyes darting about as she searched in vain for any trace of her men. "Return to operations _now_!"_

_ Four soldiers staggered through the smoldering wreckage of the doorway, sending relief washing over her at the sight. Turning her comm back on, she continued her sweep of the wreckage. "Hudson, Spielman, Roby, and Cordray are accounted for," she called in, her stomach tying itself into knots once more as she waited with trepidation for the rest of her squad to report in. _Come on! Come on—

_"I'm here, kid." _

_ A raspy voice sounded in her ear. "Where are you, Sarge?"_

_ Her sergeant's gruff voice crackled into the comm once more. To an outsider, the fact that he addressed her as 'kid' would be considered an insult of the highest order; any sergeant who dared speak to his commanding officer in such a fashion as a matter of course would, per Federation Militia protocol, be stripped of his stripes and put on kitchen detail—or worse. But Sarge was her mentor, her confidant, the man who had taken her under his wing, who had helped convince his men that a woman was more than capable of leading them. _

_ She picked up on the hesitation in his response in an instant. "Sarge? Where are you?"_

_ His voice came across the comm once more, his speech delayed by heavy, painful breaths. "I'm with Jacobson and . . . what's left of Standard. We . . . We got hit pretty hard by whatever the _frelk _got us." He took another painful breath. "Standard . . . The poor bastard never saw what killed him. . . ."_

_ She felt the sense of anxiety come upon her once more. "Where are you?" she asked._

_ Sarge's voice sounded even more raspy and weighted now. "We're in . . . in medical," he responded. A mirthless laugh sounded from his throat. "Ironic, isn't it, kid?"_

_ "Don't talk like that," she ordered as she gestured toward Cordray, signaling for her munitions expert to prep his heaviest payload. "We'll . . . We'll come get you and Jacobson out of there." She snapped her head toward her squad's tactical expert. "Roby, pull up the blueprints of this place. I want to know every possible entrance into that wing of the—"_

_ "Sarge! SARGE!"_

_ She cursed under her breath as she glanced toward the source of the voice, realizing she had forgotten the channel she had opened on her comm was one that any member of her squad could hear. The terrified newcomer to their squadron was now a blubbering mess upon the ground, his head buried in his hands, rocking back and forth._

_ "Goddamn it, Henderson!" Spielman snapped, taking hold of the quivering soldier, thrusting him against the metal of the wall. "Cut the shit! This isn't going to help Sarge and Jacobson one _frelking_—"_

_ "Lieutenant Aran!"_

_ General Donaldson's voice cut through over the comm, his curt, disciplined voice nearly causing her to reflexively snap to attention. Brushing the dirt from her eyes, she responded, doing her best to keep her voice even. "Sir, I—"_

_ The General wasted no time. "What the _frelk _is going on down there? What the hell did your men do?!" _

_She grimaced as she swore she could hear his fingers clenching the armrest of his chair from his command ship in orbit around the planet._

_Donaldson continued his blistering assault unabated. "I leave you unmonitored for ten minutes and the next thing I know our entire installation is under attack! Just what in God's name do you have to say for yourself, Lieutenant?"_

_ Swallowing, she forced herself to hide the fear in her voice. "I . . . I don't know, sir," she replied as she jumped over a loose electric wire that began to sparkle and dance wildly near her feet, nearly making contact with the boots of her tactical gear. The pulse rifle in her hand suddenly felt unnaturally heavy as she frantically fought to determine her next course of action._

"_We were conducting a routine sweep of the training facility, when everything just . . . went to hell . . ." _

_ The comm fell silent for a moment, as if Donaldson was carefully processing what she had said. Finally, after what felt like hours, his voice returned. "All right, Aran. Listen closely. Your mission parameters have just been revised. We just patched into the facility's computer. Based on our preliminary analysis, it looks as though someone managed to plant a number of Class C explosives at various points throughout the building."_

_ Her men's ears pricked up at Donaldson's words, their faces turning ashen, profanities flowing from their lips. "Son of a bitch . . ."_

_Donaldson's voice was equally grim. "Get the picture, Lieutenant? The entire _frelking _building is a powder keg waiting to explode. I want you and your men to—"_

Frelk! _Not wasting a moment, she brushed her hand over her face, her fingers coated with sweat, dirt, and grime, weighing her dwindling selection of options for rescuing her companions. "Roby!" she snapped. "Where are the schematics I asked for? There _has_ to be another way into medical—"_

_ Donaldson did not enjoy being interrupted. "I'm not through with you yet, Aran!" he shouted over the comm. "I just gave you a direct order to evacuate immediately! Please, tell me there's a very good reason why you haven't done so yet!"_

_ Spielman, Roby, Cordray, and Hudson stopped what they were doing, their eyes focused upon their young lieutenant, unsure of whose orders they should follow._

_ "Sir," she replied, making a point to utter each and every syllable slowly, deliberately. "Sir, Sergeant Melkonis and Corporal Jacobson are trapped in medical. We can't just leave them there—"_

_ "You're goddamn right you can!" Donaldson shot back, his tone now icy, filled with cool, calculated contempt. "I'm not risking the lives of the rest of your squad on some half-assed rescue attempt! Not when the entire _frelking _facility could light up like the Fourth of July at any time!" It was his term to speak slowly now, every word clearly delineated. "Get. Your. Men. Out. Of. There. _Now_!"_

_ "Kid."_

_ Sarge's voice was in her ears once more, his breathing labored, shallow._

_ "Don't do this to yourself, kid," he wheezed. "Don't _frelk _up your career on our account. Jacobson and I . . . We'll be all right—"_

_ "Like hell you will," she hissed into the comm, fighting the burning sensation welling up in her eyes. Forcing herself to breathe, meditating as the Chozo had taught her, she felt her desperation turn to calm resolve. _I'm not giving up on them, _she told herself. _I'm not—

_Donaldson's berating voice was louder than ever over the comm. ". . . or, so help me, I'll see to it that you're court-martialed and thrown in the brig for the rest of your life! Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant? Well?! _Do _I—"_

_ The comm suddenly went dead, Donaldson's voice disappearing without a trace. Confused, she glanced up, her brow furrowed in confusion as Hudson looked with mock dismay upon the comm amplification unit he typically carried upon his back, the piece of equipment now charred and melted on the floor, a thin plume of smoke wafting from the barrel of his pulse rifle. Looking up at her, he shrugged helplessly. "Oops. That's a shame." He kicked the now-useless piece of metal down the corridor. "Looks like we're going to have a hard time staying in touch with the man upstairs. . . ."_

_ Roby followed Hudson's lead. "I'm afraid didn't quite catch that last part of the General's orders, ma'am," he said,. Stepping forward, he offered her his datapad. "Here are the schematics you asked for, ma'am," he said. Looking at her intently, he glanced toward the smoldering doorway through which they had entered, his thoughts turning to Sarge and Jacobson. "I think I found a way in. But, it's going to require some special . . . talents . . ."_

_ Nodding, she tossed her pulse rifle toward Cordray, the private catching the weapon single-handedly. Moving quickly, she removed her combat fatigues, discarding the garments as she talked, knowing they were useless for what she was about to attempt._

_ "The four of you," she said as she undressed. "Get Henderson out of here. Fall back to the main entrance and wait for me there. If I'm not back with Sarge and Jacobson in ten minutes, get to the landing pad. Don't wait for me. Understand? That way, Command can't prosecute you as well as accomplices to insubordination."_

_ The men looked at each other, then back at their order-defying CO. "With all respect, ma'am," Cordray said. "There's no way in hell we're leaving without Sarge and Jacobson. Besides, you'll need cover in case there are any surprises waiting for us."_

_ Dressed only in her skintight bodysuit, she sighed, realizing her squad mates would disregard any order she gave to the contrary. "All right," she said. "If this is what you want . . ."_

_ Closing her eyes, she concentrated, focusing intently as she tapped into the technology she had rarely used since she first entered the Academy. _Come on, come on! I need you! Where are you?!

_Just as she feared she had forgotten how to summon it—it had been so long, after all—she felt the symbol above her breast glow with power, the armor concealed within activating from its long slumber, her body suddenly encased within the protective embrace of her second skin of red, orange, and yellow._

_ The green light of her visor came to life as she glanced down the corridor, her HUD bombarding her eyes with dozens of critical readouts._

_ "All right, Bravo Boys," she said, her arm cannon at the ready. "Let's raise some hell."_

* * *

_"Samus, we are approaching our destination. ETA: 2 minutes."_

Samus glanced up from the flashing instruments on the console before her, frowning beneath her helmet as she flipped several switches to her left.

"Thank you, Fortuna," she responded, hastily silencing the warning klaxon that suddenly rang through the cockpit with the flick of another switch.

Erelik leaned forward, his face betraying not a hint of concern. "Trouble?"

"Not exactly," Samus said, her voice flat as she checked her instrumentation once more. _Great. Not again._

"It's the lower port engine," the bounty hunter continued. "We . . . blew it out three years ago getting away from the Feds."

_"Correction." _

If Erelik hadn't known better, he would have sworn the AI sounded somewhat irritated.

_"I warned you we could not handle that sort of velocity," _Fortuna said.

"I know," Samus said, patting the console gently. Sighing, she shrugged toward Erelik. "She tends to be very protective of her equipment. Anyway, we've been holding it together as best we can since then, with a _frelk _load of tape and chewing gum, but it looks like our luck is about to finally run out." She turned back to the navigator's chair behind her. "You wouldn't happen to have a Z-547 engine for sale, would you?"

Her new employer smiled. "A Z-547? Aran, you insult me. I wouldn't be caught dead dealing that obsolete piece of junk. My men will give your ship a complete overhaul as a prepayment for services expected to be rendered."

Samus was thankful her helmet concealed her face; she had no desire for Erelik to see the expression of astonishment that momentarily came upon her countenance. "That . . . That would be great," she said, unsure of how else to respond. "But how can you—"

Erelik raised his hand, cutting her off. "It's not a gift, Aran. It's an investment. You're no good to me unless your equipment is in top form. And, before you ask, you don't need to worry about a thing. I have some of the best mechanics in the galaxy on my payroll. They won't leave a scratch."

Samus narrowed her eyes as red light began to glow from the console.

_"Ten seconds to arrival," _Fortuna reported. _"Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . ."_

The blur of silvery light beyond the cockpit suddenly slowed, stars becoming tiny pinpoints of light against inky blackness once more as the _Fortuna_'s jump drive switched off automatically. Instinctively, Samus's eyes pored over every detail of her scope, trying to piece together just where they were.

"The Hanoait system," she murmured to herself, the figure of Hanoait Alpha filling the cockpit's window, the gassy green giant of a planet looming before them. Uncertainly, she glanced back to Erelik. "Why are we here? This planet can't support life. Just what are you—"

Undeterred, Erelik leaned back in the navigator's chair. "Relax, Aran. Just swing around to the far side of the planet. You'll see why we're here soon enough."

Realizing she had little choice, Samus took hold of the stick in her left hand. "You heard the man, Fortuna," she whispered. "Let's come around to the other side. Slow and steady, just to be safe."

The yellow gunship edged her way around Hanoait Alpha, her pilot taking care to ensure that the vessel remained out of the planet's substantial gravitational pull. Green vapor floated up from the planet below as the _Fortuna _continued her solitary journey, casting an ethereal glow to the proceedings.

Erelik, for his part, looked as though he was having the time of his life. Whistling triumphantly, he suddenly pointed toward the cockpit window as the ship came around to the dark side of the planet. "There!" he exclaimed. "There she is!"

Samus looked at him in utter bafflement, her eyes turning back toward her console once more. "What the _frelk _are you talking about? There's nothing there except dead space."

Her employer raised an eyebrow. "Really? Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, I am," the bounty hunter insisted. "My scope shows nothing at all. Not even a—"

The familiar knot returned to her stomach as a thought crossed through her mind. _It can't be! There's no way! The size required to house one is . . ._

The fingers of her left hand launched into a fast-paced dance across her console. "Fortuna, switch to thermal imaging," she ordered. _"Now!"_

Erelik was amused. "You have thermal imaging? How did you manage to—"

Samus ignored him as she looked at the large orange mass that suddenly appeared outside the cockpit window. _What the hell is that?_

Erelik leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the shoulder of her armor. "That's my baby, Aran. The _Independence__. _What do you think?"

Samus was momentarily speechless as she struggled to comprehend the sheer size of the vessel now visible before her. "It's . . . It's as big as a Federation carrier!" she murmured. "Cloaking device . . . Advanced shielding . . ."

"And all the trimmings." Erelik rubbed his hands eagerly, like a child on Christmas morning. His tone suddenly became practical, efficient. "Oh, by the way: You may want to hail them before they shoot you down. My men tend to get a little trigger happy."

Shaking her head, Samus opened the comm. "This is gunship _Fortuna, _requesting permission to dock. And don't pretend you're not there. I have you on thermal."

A derisive laugh rang across the comm. "Well, you're a presumptive little bitch, aren't you?" the voice said. "You've got a lot of stones, dearie, thinking we're going to let you on board just like that. In fact, since you somehow found out we're here, I'm thinking it would be best if we just shot you down before you can—"

Erelik casually leaned forward. "Now's not the time, Edmonton. Just let the nice young woman board and we'll be fine."

The speaker's voice was now filled with amazement. "Sir? Is that you? What happened to your ship? Why are you on this prissy little—"

"This ship belongs to my newest employee," Erelik responded calmly. "Now, unless you wish to be unemployed, Edmonton, you will let us board without any further trouble. And, before you even ask, my security confirmation is Gamma–Three–Five–Niner."

Samus held her breath involuntarily as the massive figure of the _Independence _suddenly entered the visible spectrum, its plethora of artillery lining the mammoth ship, all weapons trained upon the _Fortuna._ Her hand hovered over the jump drive initiator, prepared to make the jump if things took a turn for the worse.

The weapons suddenly came to rest as Edmonton spoke once more. "You're all clear to come aboard, _Fortuna. _Welcome home, sir. . . ."

Erelik gestured toward the far side of the ship. "Right there, Aran. Nice and slow."

The yellow gunship flew toward the docking bay, her small form disappearing into the bowels of the larger vessel, as if swallowed by some hulking leviathan, leaving time and fate to determine whether or not she would ever be seen again. _We're here, _Samus thought as she guided the ship toward the landing pad on the far side of the dock. _We're here. . . ._

* * *

**AN: More to come!**


End file.
